


my glorious welcoming

by xenocuriosa



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenocuriosa/pseuds/xenocuriosa
Summary: After seven months abroad, Thomas Nightingale returns to the Folly - and, more importantly, to one of its occupants.
Relationships: David Mellenby/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	my glorious welcoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> Title is taken from the Mary Oliver poem "[Those days](https://www.uuworld.org/articles/poem-those-days)."

No matter how many months he had been gone, the halls of the Foreign Office remained the same. Faces changed, occasionally, but the institution itself was as solid as the earth beneath his feet—more so, if one took into account what a wizard could do to stone and soil. Bedrock, then. That would do for the simile.

Thomas was thinking such inane things not because he'd developed a sudden passion for creative writing, but because he had been cooling his heels in the foyer of the Foreign Secretary's right-hand man's right-hand man's office for the past hour, waiting to deliver his report. He was a patient man, but the mind does wander when occupied only by the decor of an foyer, however tastefully done. 

Thomas had, of course, completed the mission precisely as instructed, and in fact more quickly and more subtly than his superiors expected. The round trip had only taken seven months, and he'd acquired information on the local occultists that would no doubt be useful to men who cared about such things. Not that Thomas didn't _care_ —he simply had other things on his mind when he was in London. He smiled slightly as he considered what, or more precisely whom, those things were.

So went his thoughts, until a few minutes later, the door to the office swung open and he was beckoned inside. Thomas was on his feet with alacrity, his floating daydreams dissipating and the facts of his journey reasserting themselves in his mind.

He stepped into the office, greeted the official, and began.

An hour later, having been grilled on every fine detail as thoroughly as he'd ever been, Thomas left Whitehall with a spring in his step. Autumn was slipping tentative tendrils into the heat of summer, and he relished the hint of a cool breeze on his face.

Filial duty and his mother's recriminations demanded that he see his family before he went to his club. But his mother didn't yet know he was in London, and he would be weeks in the city during which they would see as much of each other as they could take. So to Russell Square he went.

In the evenings, David Mellenby could be found anywhere: in the Folly with the other chaps, of course, but also wandering the streets, anywhere the pavement took him, and to some places it didn't, lost in thought. He could be visiting one of his many friends, who ranged from sons of distinguished politicians to people so disreputable, his family and colleagues despaired of him. Perhaps in another person, his eccentricities would have been intolerable, but David was the Folly's shining star, skilled in the forms and wisdoms, and also the best scientist to have come out of Casterbrook in many generations—perhaps ever. His experiments and discoveries, however little Thomas understood them, would make the Folly the foremost beacon of magic in Europe in the next decade.

But it was midday now, and the Folly's shining star would be locked in his lab and oblivious to the world. No one could interrupt him, unless they were able to break whatever locking spell he'd created for the lab's door that day.

He'd yet to make one Thomas couldn't unravel.

Thomas wandered through the Folly's halls, greeting the men he recognized, smiling at the young wizards fresh out of Casterbrook. One of them gawked at him, his mouth unfortunately open, and clamped his jaw shut when Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. As Thomas walked away, he heard the boy whisper to his companion, "That's the _Nightingale_."

The nickname was not one he relished. Thomas never considered himself flashy or much of an exemplar of British wizardry; he preferred working behind the scenes, like the clockwork behind the face of an exquisitely crafted watch—or, as David would tease, lurking in the shadows like a terror in the night. But reputations build over time, and so the Nightingale he had become.

At least they hadn't latched onto someone gauche like Philip Scott, who was talented but a fop, he mused, and halted in front of the lab door.

There was indeed a spell buzzing around the lock on the door, and Thomas recognized David's _signare_ as easily as he could his own: an astringent smell, the sound of fizzing chemicals, a sweet taste in his mouth with an icy bite.

He held his hand over the doorknob and concentrated. The _forma_ slowly blossomed in his mind, unfamiliar; definitely one of David's new creations. He savored its complexity for a moment before he began to shred it, meticulously plucking the filaments apart as if the spell were something he could touch. It was spiky and a little dangerous; Thomas could feel the phantom of the electric shock it would give should someone less skilled try to break it.

Then the _forma_ broke apart, and Thomas eased open the door.

David was, not unexpectedly, hunched over his papers, scribbling equations and notes in shorthand too obscure for Thomas to understand. He held up one finger before Thomas could speak and kept writing.

Thomas shut the door behind him and locked it with a tried-and-tested spell, but cast so strongly no wizard in the Folly could break it. He wasn't especially enthusiastic about creating his own spells, though he could; he left that to David, and honed his own skills to perfection with established _formae_. He leaned against the door and watched David write. His blond hair was untidy; he never took proper care of his appearance. His tie had disappeared and the top button of his shirt was undone. Thomas found the curve of his throat intriguing.

"All right," David said finally, and set down his pencil. He looked satisfied as he glanced down at the paper one last time, then he looked at Thomas. "Made it home in one piece, did you?"

Thomas had known David Mellenby for twenty years, and they had been lovers for a decade. Nonetheless, there was something about the intensity of David's focus that fanned an answering spark within Thomas, even after all these years. He felt it leap now, a glad heat in his chest.

He changed his posture from a lean to a lounge, and let a small smile play around his lips.

"More or less," he answered, and tilted his head invitingly. David's focus sharpened. "Do you want to—"

_Check_ , he had meant to say, but David had bolted upright and lunged for him before he could finish his sentence.

With an unexpected amount of amorous scientist in his arms, Thomas stumbled a bit. David buried his face in Thomas' shoulder, inhaled—Thomas had worn David's favorite aftershave for this exact circumstance—and mumbled, "Do it."

Thomas cast the werelight and let David bask in his _signare_ for a few moments before unwrapping him from Thomas' torso, taking David's chin in his hand and kissing him firmly.

If someone had ever wondered about it—and Thomas very much hoped they didn't—they would probably have expected David to be more passive than Thomas. Thomas had been an athlete; his work required him to cross foreign and often hostile territory, and he had the scars and stories to prove it. David worked in a lab.

But David wasn't passive in the slightest. David kissed like it was a boxing match he was determined to win, teeth clacking together, shoving Thomas against the door and pressing himself flush against Thomas' body, his tongue in Thomas' mouth. In return, Thomas pulled away from the kiss and ducked his head, finding that patch of skin usually hidden beneath David's shirt. This was a very sensitive spot for David, and Thomas sucked and nipped at it until he shuddered with pleasure.

"You'll leave a bruise," David said in a thready voice.

"No one will see it if you wear your tie for once," Thomas murmured against his skin, but raised his head nonetheless. He kissed David again, more gently, then peppered little kisses over his face until David laughed and relaxed in his arms.

The urgency of the moment was fading, replaced by a sleek sensation of satisfaction and arousal that would definitely need to be addressed soon.

But right now, David leaned his forehead against Thomas' and said softly, "All in one piece. I'm glad."

"I worry about you too, you know," Thomas told him, and stroked the nape of his neck with one finger. David shivered. "After the fire in '29—"

"That happened _once_ ," David snapped, but without any real heat. "And I've learned my lesson about mixing magic and protactinium. Or using protactinium at all, actually."

"True," Thomas conceded. David slipped an arm around his waist. "But my point remains."

David regarded him for a moment. His eyes were the deep blue of the skies on the edges of summer and piercing. As always, the quicksilver thoughts behind them were opaque to Thomas.

"Well," David said, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Shall I show you a proper homecoming, then?"

Thomas thought of sex, then considered to whom he was speaking, and asked dubiously, "Is it going to involve quantum geometry?"

David gave him a maniacal grin and stepped back, gesturing extravagantly to the rest of the lab.

"Step into my parlor," he said grandly, and Thomas sighed.

There was no hiding the smile on his face, though. He allowed David to guide him throughout the lab, taking in the familiar scents and sounds of the lab: beakers and graphite and the sound of his shoes on the tile, and David's voice, explaining his experiments at a slightly higher level than Thomas could follow.

Thomas closed his eyes briefly, completely content for the first time in seven months, and thought, _It's good to be home_.


End file.
